


Fic prompting game: The holiday romance

by AlbieGeorge



Series: AlbieG's ill-advised fic prompting game [4]
Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Drabble, M/M, UNUSUAL SHIPS, don't tell southee, jimmy neesham is allergic to clothes, prompting game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 16:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14241423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbieGeorge/pseuds/AlbieGeorge
Summary: Better late than never (I hope), my fourth prompted drabble.  Here's the prompt:- Chris Woakes/Trent Boult- Oops I slept with the opposition- Jimmy Neesham, probably shirtless- A leopard print umbrella





	Fic prompting game: The holiday romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maythefoursbewithyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maythefoursbewithyou/gifts).



Chris Woakes felt uneasy.  As a quiet person in a professional sports team, he often felt a little uneasy, but this was different.  Something he'd never done before, something he figured he'd left in the noisy, shiny chaos of Eden Gardens, was about to raise its faintly peculiar but handsome head and bite him in the arse.

He'd never had a holiday romance.  OK, it wasn't a holiday romance, it was a T20 franchise romance - the professional cricketer's equivalent it seemed.  He'd been far from home in a strange country full of lots of people who were very kind but all wanted a photo and an autograph, and after half an hour of smiling and signing, he'd been desperate for a cup of tea and a long look at the football scores.  As he'd retreated, cheeks aching from a thousand selfie smiles, he'd collided head on with a giant pile of KKR kit with legs, scattering purple shirts and gold pads haphazardly across the deserted hotel corridor.  In the flurry of apologies that naturally followed a Brit and a New Zealander causing one another minor inconvenience, their eyes locked and suddenly they were both doing what their friends knew them best for - Chris was blushing and Trent Boult was grinning.

It had been fun.  Ducking into kit cupboards and sneaking off after team functions had turned into distinctly coupley golf trips and night match induced long afternoon naps punctuated by wandering hands and wandering lips.  They'd even taken the odd risk, Trent angling a large leopard print parasol so their oblivious team-mates couldn't see him lean over and steal a lazy, suncreen-scented kiss from Chris's surprised lips as they lounged by the hotel pool.  As the IPL ended, they'd parted amicably, a handshake turning into a hug that might have lasted a moment too long.

It was in the aftermath of the first ODI that it happened.  Chris was wandering down a corridor in the pavilion, whistling and cheery, when he felt slender fingers wrap around his upper arm, and a surprisingly strong tug sent him stumbling into a physio room and the arms of a tanned and grinning Trent.  He raised his eyebrows suggestively as he flicked the lock on the door and dipped his lips to Chris's neck.  Chris smiled and raised his head to give Trent more room, trying to beat back the feeling that he'd missed this.

Through giggles and "Hello stranger"s, and all manner of awkward kit removal, Chris had managed to get Trent laid on his back on the physio bed, shirtless and sighing, as he kissed his way down Trent's neck and his fingers began to investigate the waistband of Trent's shorts.

Suddenly, there was a buzzing and a loud and cheery ringtone from Trent's pocket.  Trent reached for the phone, sighing and rolling his eyes.  Chris looked up, eyebrows raised.

"You're not going to..."

Trent rolled his eyes.

"It's Jimmy.  He'll just keep ringing back until I answer."

Chris's eyes grew wide.

"Anderson?"

Trent laughed.

"Worse.  Neesham."

Chris turned his head on one side and did his best puppy dog eyes.  The phone continued to ring.  Trent sighed and accepted the FaceTime, angling the phone towards his face as an expanse of fair, muscled torso lit up the screen.

"Argh!" exclaimed Trent, "Neesh, are you NAKED?"

"MATE!" came the response, ignoring the question, "You gotta help me.  I got hit in the tit by a cricket ball, and I think my nipple's falling off.  Take a look, would'ya?"

Chris chuckled, bothering the smooth skin somewhere south of Trent's sternum with the vibration of his laugh and forcing a small noise of pleasure from Trent's lips.

"Trent?!  What are you doing?"

"Hmm?  Uhh... physio."  Trent replied hastily, attempting to smooth out his hair, which was somewhere between windswept and cockatoo.

"Well,  stop getting off on it and pay attention.  I can't lose a nipple, Trent!  I'll look lopsided."

Chris ventured south of Trent's belly button, and before he knew it, Trent's right hand was at the back of his head, gently guiding him downwards, while the left flung the phone across the room, where it landed satisfyingly in the waste paper bin.

Some time later they lay, sweaty and sated, tangled up in each other on a physio bed that was too small for two fast bowlers.

Trent looked at Chris and smiled.

"I missed this." he said.

Chris couldn't hold back a goofy grin, but it was wiped clean off his face when, out of the blue, the litter bin cleared its throat.

"Uhh, mate, what kind of physio was that?  And, more importantly, where can I get some?"


End file.
